


Not Leaving Here Without You

by Amelia_Clark



Series: Cursed or Not [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Purgatory, stupid canon making the ending sad, that happens to me a lot actually, weirdly romantic for its setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 10:13:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1506755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia_Clark/pseuds/Amelia_Clark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean jolts awake, realizes three things: first, that he was asleep, for the first time in months; second, that someone is touching him, without malice; third, perhaps most surprising, that that someone is Castiel, because Dean’s apparently fallen asleep with his head on the angel’s thigh, and Cas is reverently stroking Dean’s hair, staring down at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Leaving Here Without You

Dean doesn't sleep in Purgatory, and the strange thing is he doesn’t really miss it. It’s like the whole mystical shebang isn’t quite sure what do with him, with his incongruous humanity, and so faced with his mortal needs (eating, sleeping, shaving) the dimension just shrugs and lets him off the hook. Which is awesome, because the relentless monotony of run-kill-run doesn't leave much time for the finer things. He’d be stuck eating crap out of a TV survival show, roots and leaves, wiggly larval things from under rocks. A small blessing, to be spared that.

A greater blessing, to not have to sleep. No wonder Sam got so much shit done when he was soulless—so many more hours in the day. Not that there’s day here, or night; just a perpetual twilight, a gray-blue tinge to everything that reminds him of Castiel’s eyes.

Or it did, before he found himself looking into those eyes again and knew there was nothing else in the world that could compare. They’re ice, they’re sky, they’re ocean, they’re fire. He would give anything to be alone with him, to drown and burn at once in those eyes.

It’s not going to happen, though. Whatever conversation, whatever unfinished business they have from those intense, doomed moments _(Cas’s tongue in his mouth as he came, Cas hearing the words Dean couldn’t say)_ in the back of the Impala? It’ll wait until they’re out of here. It has to.

And then Dean jolts awake, realizes three things: first, that he was asleep, for the first time in months; second, that someone is touching him, without malice; third, perhaps most surprising, that that someone is Castiel, because Dean’s apparently fallen asleep with his head on the angel’s thigh, and Cas is reverently stroking Dean’s hair, staring down at him.

"Hello, Dean," Cas says gravely. His hand doesn't stop moving; Dean's half rolled over to meet his gaze, and so Cas's fingers trail from his hair to his skin, brushing the side of his face and tracing his jaw before he simply rests his hand against his cheek, his thumb hovering over Dean's bottom lip. Dean shuts his eyes again for a second, every nerve ending he has stretching towards the electricity of Cas's touch.

"Uh," he says, opening his eyes, "how long was I out?"

"Half an hour, perhaps? We found this spot, easily defended, and you were suddenly unconscious. I—I picked you up off the ground. I hope you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind," says Dean, and there's so much under the words. He looks around, trying not to think about Cas lifting him—it must have been so gentle, not to wake him—and then settling him down in his lap. Cas is leaning against a tree; they're in a clearing on top of a bluff, the high ground giving them a broad view of the area. Which is, for once, empty of anything that wants to kill them.

And empty of the third in their little band. "Where's Benny?"

"Hunting," says Cas, an edge of judgment to his voice. "When we ascertained you were merely sleeping, not injured, he decided to go find a meal. We're alone, Dean." His thumb twitches, grazing Dean's lip. Both of them breathe in sharply at the contact.

"Cas," Dean says quietly, "you remember, right? Before—before the big boss fight? You didn't lose that when you found your marbles?" He hopes Cas can hear what’s under the words, his fear and longing: _Do you still want me? Do you still love me?_

"No, I remember," Cas answers. He touches Dean's mouth more deliberately now, sliding the pad of his thumb between Dean's half-parted lips. "I remember coming with you, Dean."

"Then why haven't you acted like it? We came here and you, you _ran away._ You said—what you said, dammit, that means you stay with me."

"No, it means I keep you safe. You're not safe with me—you weren't then, and you're not now."

"I wasn't safe without you, either, is the thing. This whole goddamn dimension is a deathtrap, which is why I’m getting out of here. I'm getting _you_ out of here."

Cas sighs. "I don't want to argue, Dean. We don't have long."

"We don't have long for what?" Dean asks. Is Cas propositioning him here? Now? Both of them covered in dirt and blood, clothes caked with sweat, imminent death around every corner?

OK, yeah, that's really fucking hot. Tentatively, he touches his tongue to Cas’s thumb, tasting salt and copper; the angel gasps.

"I've never kissed you sane," says Cas, his voice hoarse, and that's all Dean needs to hear. He grabs the lapels of Cas's filthy trenchcoat, pulling himself up and him down until their mouths meet in the middle. Cas's arms are around him immediately, tight beneath Dean's shoulder blades, holding him up with barely controlled seraphic strength. 

It's a pose off a romance novel cover, or would be if Dean had flowing raven tresses and a ripped bodice: buoyed up by Cas's embrace, head tilted back into the cradle of Cas’s elbow by the push of his kiss, the insistent press of his tongue. He moans, and his knuckles scrape bark as he tangles fingers in Cas's hair; Cas licks at Dean's neck, sucks his earlobe, burrows a hand beneath his shirts to dig nails into his spine.

Dean actually feels kinda like a romance heroine (look, he only read that one that one time, OK? and it was for a case, and that's the story he's sticking to): devoured, plundered, _claimed,_ and turns out it's exactly what he wants. He'd let Cas fuck him on the ground right now, splay him out on the dirt and push into him, with only spit for lube and rocks digging into his bare ass.

But then a sudden sound, distant but inhuman, reminds him this is a terrible idea, letting down their guard like this. Safer doesn't mean safe. "Cas," he says, pulling away the few scant inches he can muster, "one of us at least has gotta keep his eyes open. Otherwise we're sitting fucking ducks."

Before Cas can jump in with a question about waterfowl, Dean comes up with a solution: "Lemme suck you off, OK? Just stay where you are, don’t close your eyes, watch our flank. Besides," he adds with a smirk, "it's hotter if you watch."

Cas nods assent helplessly, his beard rough against Dean's face as the hunter starts to kiss down his throat, nibbling at the edges of his collarbone where it's framed by the V-neck of his shirt. _Goddammit,_ he needs more time; he wants every inch of Cas, to feast his eyes on the lines of him only glimpsed in the half-shadow of the Impala's backseat. To trace the muscles, the bones beneath his skin with hands and mouth, learn his body like his own. He doesn't want this, a hurried blowjob in the woods. Except, no, he does—he wants Cas, and that means he wants anything their fucked-up lives will allow them.

So he rucks Cas's shirt up, ducks to lick and suck at his nipples in turn. Cas's hands flutter from his jaw to his shoulder blades, from the delicate curve of his ear to his lithe bicep. "Dean," he says, and Dean can't figure out why it took him so long to realize every time Cas says his name it's a prayer.

"Yeah baby, I know," Dean says, sliding down onto his side so his head's level with Cas's hips, lean and strong as he grasps them through the fabric of his pants. They're like the handles of double doors; Dean wishes he could fling them wide and walk through into a new life.

But all he can do right now is undo Cas's pants, pull them down to mid-thigh when Cas lifts his pelvis, and then he's face to face with the angel's cock. Honestly, there's nothing remarkable about it—cocks sort of all look the same to Dean—and he knows it's just chick-flick feelings that are making it the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, but right now it is. He runs the back of his knuckles up the length of it, feeling it shiver under his touch, his lips quirking at the sound of Cas's shaky breath above him. He makes another pass, this time with the pads of his fingers, and flicks his tongue across the head, quick but sure.

 _"Ohhhh,_ Dean," Cas moans, "oh, that feels...that feels like Heaven," voice wondering at his own blasphemy. Dean wraps his hand around Cas's shaft and strokes down, following it with his tongue, and Cas's moan loses its words.

"Are your eyes open, baby?" Dean whispers, and when Cas manages a breathy assent, he finally slides his mouth over the head of his cock, taking it in as far as he can, making up the difference with a firm grip. He whirls his tongue around the shaft, flattening it to lick at the head, all the while keeping his mouth stretched wide to hold Cas deep and warm and wet.

Then he starts to bob up and down, hand keeping pace, building a rhythm while Cas gasps and clutches the back of his head. Fuck, he could go down on Cas for _hours,_ tease him till he's hoarse with pleading, drag him up and down the climb to orgasm until he begs to come...someday, someday, when they're out of here. Instead, he moves faster, relaxing his jaw to let Cas thrust up into him, his own eyes shut tight so that his whole world narrows down to this, to him and Cas, like they should be. He hardly remembers to take down his own fly, jacking his cock almost as an afterthought. He thinks he could come from the noises Cas makes alone.

The noises stop as Cas crests, holding his breath, his grip on Dean almost painful as he comes down his throat; Dean sucks and swallows, only aware of his own orgasm as a pleasant echo. Looking up, he meets Cas's wide eyes, and there's such love in them it's everything he can do not to look away.

"You like that, Cas?" he asks.

"Yes. I want...Dean, I want you. I wish things could be different."

"They will be, angel. I'll get you out of here, we'll have beds and showers and time, we'll be together. It's gonna be awesome." Dean tucks their cocks away and sits up again, pulling Cas into a hug. "It's gonna be awesome," he murmurs again into Cas's ear.

"Yes, together," Cas says, and Dean can't see the love in his eyes turn to pain.

**Author's Note:**

> One more fic in this continuity, I think, right around 8.07. Thanks for reading, all you sweetie pies!


End file.
